like you trust me.”

“I do.” I said the words without thinking. “I’m not worried about you being with someone else. Andre is nothing compared to me. Why would you want another man when I’m one of a kind?”

She dropped her gaze.

“That’s not what upsets me. It’s…” I shook my head. “It’s possessiveness. It’s jealousy. It’s emotions I can’t even comprehend. I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never had a woman I didn’t want to share.”

She lifted her gaze again. “I know exactly how that feels…”

It was fun to watch when I was on the other side of the conversation. But being the culprit was no fun at all. My flesh had been stripped away, and there was nothing but my feelings underneath—and she could see them all. I couldn’t hide them anymore. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t care less where you’ve been, how many guys you’ve slept with, because there’s nothing wrong with it. Your past doesn’t matter. Only your present does—with me.”

She watched me for a while. “I’ve never been with a man who makes me feel the way you do…because you are one of a kind. My friends aren’t just jealous of me for having you. They’re jealous because of the way you look at me, the way you treat me. They’re jealous of everything that we have. I don’t look at other men because there’s nothing to look at. You’re it…” She didn’t need to say any of that because her feelings were obvious in everything she did, from losing her mind with jealousy to fucking me nonstop throughout the night.

I smiled slightly, relieved that she forgave me, that she wanted me enough to excuse the shitty things I said.

“But you need to trust me…” She stepped closer to me, her arms loosening from across her chest and moving to my biceps. She tilted her gaze up slightly to look at me, staring through her thick eyelashes. “Do you trust me?”

My arms moved around her body, my hands planting against the bare skin of her back. My fingers dug in slightly as I pulled her closer, bringing our faces close together, my eyes looking into hers with a new kind of intensity. “With my life.”

Eight

Catalina

The clothes came off the second we got home, the pieces of his suit like breadcrumbs down the hallway. His watch came loose and landed somewhere on the bed, and my small black dress was hanging on the bedpost.

With his powerful arms behind my knees, he took me deep and slow, his mouth kissing mine as he rocked into me over and over. With every thrust, he pressed deep within me, getting his entire cock inside before he pulled out again, his lips never breaking with mine.

My nails scratched down his back, marking his skin with my long nails. I kissed him back, but it became harder and harder as my body prepared to explode. “Come inside me…” I spoke against his lips, opening my eyes so I could see his eyes staring back at me. We had just begun, and he usually waited for me to come at least once before he released, but I was too anxious. “I want to feel it while you fuck me.” His seed always dripped between my legs and got on his sheets, acting as the lubricant between our already wet bodies.

He moaned against my mouth when he heard my request, aroused by the demand. He pumped into me a few more times before he released, groaning loud against my mouth as he stuffed my pussy with every drop of his seed. He paused as he finished, breathing against my mouth as he felt the shiver in every nerve of his body. Then he started to move again.

I pulled him close and kissed him again. “That’s better…” It didn’t take me long to reach my own climax, to come around his dick the way he’d just come inside me. I sheathed him with a flood of moisture, our bodies mutually soaked for each other.

He watched my face as I came around his dick, watching my performance while he continued to slam his fat dick inside me, his come and mine dripping down my crack to the sheets underneath us.

I could do this forever.

I never wanted this to end, this unbelievable passion to die away. There would never be another man to make me feel like this, to take my breath away with just a kiss. When I was old and gray, I would remember these nights with a blush in my cheeks and a smile on my face. It would be something I thought about when I was alone with my vibrator in the years to come. It would be something I’d think about when I slept with my husband, even though I’d try so hard not to let the memories flash in my mind.

But they would.

I didn’t want to think about the expiration date on this relationship, not when it gave me everything I hadn’t known I needed. I had no idea men like him existed, that they were this strong, that they were this good in bed.

Or was he the only one?

We moved together until we were both finished, our earlier fight erased from our minds. It was like it never happened, like it didn’t matter, and why would it when we had this? Our wet bodies came to a gradual halt, and I cupped his face as I kissed him, so satisfied but insatiable at the same time.

He slowly pulled his dick out of me before he rolled over, his heavy body collapsing on the sheets, his skin coated in his sweat. One arm moved under his head, and he looked at the ceiling for a few seconds before he closed his eyes.

I did the same, letting my body cool off, letting his come drip from between my legs. I noticed every time I came over, his sheets were clean and fresh, so I assumed he or someone else was washing

Вы читаете Secret (Betrothed Book 9)
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